


Simple Pleasures

by storybookpen (lears_daughter)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lears_daughter/pseuds/storybookpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lonely people connect. Written for the OUAT kink meme prompt: ice-cream, prison cell, whisky. Written during Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Lying on her back on the lumpy cot, Emma Swan counted cracks in the ceiling tiles and heaved a sigh. She regretted the gesture immediately; it made her feel silly, as if she imagined herself to be the distraught heroine of a romance novel. Her life wasn't nearly that interesting, of course. The thought was enough to make her heave another sigh.

She found the prison cell, her old enemy, strangely comforting these days. It reminded her of Graham, and the feelings she might have been able to feel for him if they'd had more time. The solid metal bars and faint noxious odor had become some of life's constants.

So was booze.

Tilting her head up just enough to knock back a swig of whiskey, Emma swallowed, hissing her pleasure at the burn of the liquor sliding down her throat. She'd spent most of the long day butting heads with the mayor and her body and soul felt weary. She hadn't even been able to drag herself home to Mary Margaret's apartment, although that might have had more to do with not wanting to listen to the other woman wax lyrical about a married man all evening. Emma liked Mary Margaret a lot, but that woman could pine like a pro and sometimes Emma just didn't have the energy to be the shoulder for someone else to cry on.

"Well now, we haven't seen this particular sight in a while."

The unexpected voice made Emma jerk, almost knocking the half-empty, partially melted container of Ben and Jerry's from her chest onto the floor. She rescued the precious ice cream and sat up to glare at Mr. Gold, pretending he hadn't scared the living daylights out of her. It never failed to amaze her that a man with a cane could move more quietly than most able bodied people.

"Mr. Gold," she said shortly, glaring at him through the bars of the cell. "It's late. What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, a half smile playing along his lips. "I was out for a stroll. When I saw that the light was on I thought I'd pop in for a chat. I didn't expect to find you, of all people, behind bars." He made an ironic bow. "My lady Sheriff."

She refused to be embarrassed by him. "I suppose you want me to pay rent for spending the night in here."

He pressed one hand to his chest in an innocent "who, me?" gesture. "My dear Miss Swan, I would never think to demand anything from you in your own domain." Suddenly his gaze sharpened. "Is that Cherry Garcia?"

Emma felt an intense, Gollum-esque desire to clutch the ice cream to her and snarl, "Mine!" Instead she said, somewhat incredulously, " _You're_  a Ben and Jerry's fan?"

Still eyeing the ice cream covetously, he licked his lips. "Despite what people around town may say, I am, in fact, human."

It was obvious he wanted an invitation, and even though the very thought of Gold was usually enough to make her skin crawl, tonight she didn't feel up to barking a rejection and sending him on his way. He was a scumbag, but he wasn't necessarily her enemy, and under his thousand dollar suit and haughty air she thought she sensed something forlorn and familiar.

"Get over here if you want some," she said. "I'm not getting up."

He moved faster than an Olympic sprinter. One moment he was standing calmly on the other side of the bars, the next he was settling himself on the cot beside her, his bad leg stretched out in front of him.

Scowling, she handed him the container. He took it reverently, not seeming to mind sharing her spoon and not seeming to care that the ice cream was a little soupy. He scooped up a mouthful and ate it with slow reverence, his eyes closing as his throat worked.

Watching him felt vaguely voyeuristic, so she looked away and took another swig of whiskey. She could smell the faint spice of Gold's cologne. It was not an unpleasant smell.

"I can't remember the last time I had ice cream," Gold said, sounding as if she'd just given him the Taj Mahal.

"They sell it at the grocery store," Emma pointed out, smiling despite herself. It was nice to make someone happy sometimes, even if the someone in question was the town's one-man mafia.

Gold sighed. "If you stay in Storybrooke long enough, Miss Swan, I fear you'll come to learn what the rest of us already know. It's all too easy to let the simple pleasures of life slip away from you in this place."

"You say that like the rest of the world's so different." She looked at him sidelong. "I wasn't exactly swimming in happiness before this."

He took another spoonful and spent a few long seconds molesting it before he swallowed again and told her, "That's because you take things far too seriously."

"You don't get to insult me  _and_  eat my Cherry Garcia," Emma informed him.

He patted her on the knee. "No offense intended, my dear." His eyes slid to her whiskey. "I don't suppose—"

"Oh, here." She shoved the bottle at him.

"Whiskey and ice cream," Gold said, setting the bottle beside him while he loaded up the spoon. "Is it a good combination?"

"Better than you'd think." She watched with fascination as he stuck the spoon in his mouth then took a sip of whiskey.

He met her eyes as he rolled the stuff around in his mouth. She didn't know how to read his expression. It seemed so mild, but there was something fiery in his eyes. He swallowed a little, testing the taste.

"Well?" she said.

He reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. It occurred to her that he was much, much too close. Then his hand drifted behind her to cup the back of her head and he set down the bottle of the whiskey even as he leaned in and kissed her.

She should have resisted. But she was lonely and tired and his lips were surprisingly warm against hers. When his tongue pressed against her lips she parted them obediently, and when he pushed it inside her mouth the blend of ice cream, whiskey, and  _Gold_  was intoxicating. Their upper bodies turned toward each other, pressed together until her breasts were crushed against his chest. His free hand settled on her hip. His hold on the back of her head tightened, holding her firmly in place as he plundered her mouth. He kissed her relentlessly, feeding her the mixture even as he stole her breath. Her hands clutched his pristine jacket, wrinkling it.

The container of Ben and Jerry's fell to the floor.

Emma swallowed once, twice, and the next time Gold's tongue slid along hers the taste of ice cream and whiskey was almost gone and the flavor that remained was uniquely his.

They paused only a moment to breathe and then they were kissing again, unhurriedly, lingering over the simple pleasure of being close to another human being. Emma hadn't kissed anyone since Graham— _no, don't think about him_ —and before that it had been…months. She'd been too busy, too emotionally unavailable, too wounded to let anyone close.

She wondered how long it had been for Gold, whether she was the only person in this town he'd ever seduced simply by being there.

He pushed against her, deepening the kiss, and as he pushed she leaned back, and somehow she found herself lying on the bed with Gold on top of her, his lower body pressed snugly between her thighs.

The hand that had been holding the back of her head cupped her cheek. His other hand slid up her hip, lingering for only a moment on her breast, and mirrored its partner. The probing of his tongue became more urgent, mapping the inside of her mouth, urging her passion to rise along with his.

He was hard against her, of course. And she was as turned on as she could ever remember being.

She held his hips and pushed against him, eliciting a groan from Gold that both aroused and pleased her. It seemed to startle Gold, who abruptly broke the kiss, pressing his hot forehead against her shoulder.

"I apologize, Miss Swan," he said, breathing heavily. "I had no intention of…This is not why I came here."

She combed her fingers through his hair. She might have regretted the oddly tender gesture if he hadn't leaned into her touch.

"I know," she said. "We wouldn't be in this position if I thought you'd come here looking to get laid."

He pressed a kiss to her collar bone. Then he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck. His lips brushed her jaw, her cheek, her ear, and then he seized her lips in another kiss, this one harsh and demanding. She twined his hair around her fingers as he unbuttoned her shirt, his hands caressing every inch of exposed flesh, making her stomach quiver as heat pooled between her legs.

They parted long enough for him to reach behind her, unlatch her bra, and draw it and her shirt away, tossing them to the side. He moved down her body to take a nipple in his mouth, heat and warmth swirling around her, making her gasp and push against him. She felt his hands undoing the button and zipper on her jeans. His mouth moved to her other nipple as he began to tug her jeans and panties down, pausing for her to lift her hips. He had to relinquish her nipple to take off her shoes and socks and pull the jeans and panties over her feet, letting them fall to the floor.

He pulled off his jacket, tie, coat, shoes, and socks, and then he was on top of her again, his bare chest rubbing against hers, making her tingle wherever their naked flesh touched. He kissed her savagely as he shimmied out of his pants and boxer briefs, shoving them to the foot of the cot.

He was fully erect, his penis almost flush to his stomach. Emma reached between their bodies to feel him, her thumb stroking the round head. He groaned and thrust against her, pressing his face into her shoulder.

"I don't have a condom," he muttered, his hand going between her legs.

She was already wet, and the feel of his fingers stroking her clit and then pushing inside her, stroking her inner walls, was so good she couldn't imagine stopping.

"I don't care," she said.

They both shifted positions a little. He put his hands on either side of her head and she held his butt and they looked each other in the eye as he smoothly pushed inside her.

He pierced her inch by inch, filling that perpetually empty space inside her with heat. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him as close as she could, trying to meld their skins.

When he began to thrust she felt content for the first time in months. Massaging her breast with knowing fingers, he moved inside her, setting a slow, steady rhythm that made it clear he intended to draw this out as long as possible. Her hips rose to meet his on each thrust, and when she let out a whine of frustration— _harder, dammit!_ —he chuckled, a low, seductive sound she wouldn't have suspected he could make.

"Emma," he breathed, and on his lips her name sounded like a prayer. He sucked her earlobe between his teeth, nibbling gently, and quickened his pace, stoking the fire between them.

She was panting now, her hands wandering over his back, his ass. Her entire world narrowed down to sensation, the feeling of a man she hated—did she hate him, really?—carving his way into her body as if he had a right to be there. He rubbed her clit as he began to thrust more roughly, pounding into her harder, his lips drawing back in a snarl of concentration. She should have found the expression disturbing but instead she matched his savagery with her own, her nails scoring his back as she met him thrust for thrust, her passion rising until she thought she might burst.

Her orgasm took her by surprise, stealing her breath as light flashed behind her eyelids. She cried out and threw her head back, her legs tightening around him in a death grip.

He thrust twice more and then stilled inside her, and this time when he spoke her name it was a guttural cry torn from him, unwilling. "Emma!" He shuddered through the aftershocks, his hips continuing to nudge against hers until she'd milked him of all he had to give.

He wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her to him one last time, kissing her tenderly, almost as if in thanks.

"You know that this doesn't change anything between us," he panted, his smile stealing any harshness from the words.

"Isn't that my line?" Emma said archly.

He made as if to pull out of her but the thought of losing that connection was more than she could bear. She tightened her grip around him. "Stay," she said.

He flicked his thumb over her nipple. "My pleasure, dear Emma."

They lay there, entwined, sweaty, and sated. On the floor, ice cream congealed around the handle of Gold's cane.


End file.
